


body shot

by lizamarri



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Bisexual Peter Parker, Body Shots, College Parties, Deal With It, Drinking, Drinking Games, Drunk Sex, F/F, F/M, Feelings, Gay Harley Keener, Hook-Up, I know I KNOW, I'll see you soon my babies!, Keenker, Lesbian Michelle Jones, Lesbian Shuri (Marvel), M/M, Minor Betty Brant/Ned Leeds, Mutual Pining, Non-Binary Betty Brant, Parley, Pining, SO, and don't forget to like and subscribe, and don't worry guys i will be back on ao3 with some more stuff, and i do take prompts there!, byeeee my lovelies, do they even have a ship name, drinking games like body shots, for real this time ;), it came out shorter then I intended, it's a college au, it's post midterms to theyre all getting drunk, ive got a punk!percy percabeth college au coming your way, kink of, lesbian!mj is a god to us commoners, lol there's body shots involved, michuri - Freeform, my tumblr is @all-this-panic-still-no-disco, nothing descriptive tho, parkner, sex with feelings, yeah it's tropey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:47:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23720329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizamarri/pseuds/lizamarri
Summary: Blue eyes, blonde hair, stupid southern accent. It's too much~Peter Parker's had a crush on Harley Keener for months. It's not going away, so his solution? Get drunk with his friends, because midterms are finally over. But then Betty suggests body shots, and...(Read the tags!)
Relationships: Betty Brant & Harley Keener, Betty Brant & Ned Leeds, Betty Brant/Ned Leeds, Harley Keener & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Harley Keener & Peter Parker, Harley Keener/Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Harley Keener & Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Shuri, Michelle Jones/Shuri, Michuri, Parkner - Relationship
Comments: 10
Kudos: 252





	body shot

Peter’s starting to regret the party.

Betty is the one who dragged him there, along with a slightly reluctant MJ and Ned. MJ was lured in under the guise of hot girls, and himself alcohol. 

The thing is, Betty also invited Harley.

It’s not that he doesn’t like Harley. Harley’s great. In fact, his problem is that he likes Harley a little too much. 

As they say, drunk words are sober thoughts, and whenever he sees Harley he has a  _ lot _ of thoughts. 

But right now, he’s nursing a cup of some mixed drink that has yet to get him properly buzzed. MJ’s flirting with some random girl sporting a head of spectacular braids, and Harley’s disappeared long ago. Betty pops up in front of him, dragging Harley behind her. Ned trails along as well, staring moonily at his partner. 

“Come on!” Betty cries. “We’re gonna go play drinking games ‘cause this is college and we can.” Their words are a little slurred, and judging by the way they’re swaying slightly, Peter’s pretty sure Betty’s just a little drunk. 

He nods, not wanting to shout over the music. He tugs on MJ’s sleeve, yelling something about drinking games in her ear. She rolls her eyes, and drags Braids Girl over to join the fun. 

They find a corner that’s remarkable quiet considering the hubbub around them. All the noise fades down to a reasonable background call. 

“Alright losers,” MJ says. “What’re we doing.”

Betty holds out their hand, then stands shakily and runs towards the kitchen. They returns a second later, holding out a lime, a salt shaker, and a bottle of vodka. “Body shots,” Betty cackles.

Harley whoops, MJ grins in satisfaction, and Peter just takes another drink. This is going to be… kind of fun, actually. 

Braids Girl bites her lip, looking over to MJ. “You wanna?” Her accent is rich, like African royalty. MJ lets out a signature cackle, before grabbing the vodka from Betty’s hand. “Lie down.”

This situation should feel awkward, but… it doesn’t. Braids Girl pulls her shirt up, exposing a her stomach. 

Betty slices up the lime, and Braids Girl rests a wedge in her mouth before carefully pouring a line of salt across her stomach. MJ fills up a shot glass, resting it on Braid Girl’s stomach above the salt. 

“And… go!” Betty cries. 

MJ leans forward, licking the salt off of Braid Girl’s stomach. Then, she grabs the lime from her mouth, sucks the juice out of it and spits it out, then picks up the shot glass with her teeth. MJ tilts her jaw up, knocking the shot back. 

Cheers erupt around their little circle, Peter included. The alcohol in his chest is making him feel warm and fuzzy and light. Braids Girl leans up, laughing as her shirt falls back. 

“Peter, you’re going next.” Betty slurs. “And… Harley.”

Part of Peter is hesitant. He doesn’t want to embarass himself, right? But he agrees anyway, and lies down on the floor. 

“I knew you were a bottom!” MJ laughs. “Get it, Parker!”

Peter grins and flashes her the finger, too drunk to care. He pulls his shirt up, all the way to his ribs. 

Lightly, Peter feels the tickle of salt pouring onto his abs. The shot glass that rests there next is cold, and Peter inhales. 

MJ and Braids Girl are cheering. MJ’s stolen the vodka bottle, and is now taking swigs directly from it. Betty and Ned are slurring equally, and Peter knows that they’re just as drunk as he is. 

Whatever. They’re college students, and midterms are finally over.

Harley leans over him, those stupidly blue eyes piercing through the haze of alcohol surrounding him. 

Peter doesn’t see much, but he feels  _ all _ of it.

He feels Harley’s tongue swipe up his stomach, warm and smooth. He feels the faintest gust of Harley’s breath when the southern boy sucks the lime out of his mouth. He feels the cold sensation removed as Harley takes back the shot.

Everyone’s laughing and cheering, and Peter sits up a little hazily. He looks over to Harley, blinking slowly.

The bastard  _ winks. _

Peter takes a shot.

The night dissolves, like dye tablets in vinegar, and time turns to liquid. Flashes of it are all he can remember a moment later, low-turned lights and loud laughs and Harley’s smile.

He’s intoxicated enough not to stand straight, but not enough to forget his own name. “Dance with me?” Harley offers.

Peter accepts, and Harley drags him out to the dance floor. His hands encircle the brunette’s waist, pulling him flush.

They sway for a minute like that, amidst the throngs of people. Peter hooks his fingers into Harley’s belt loops, and Harley kisses his jaw in appreciation.

“Kiss me?” Peter pleads, and Harley doesn’t hesitate.

In all aspects, the kiss should be gross. It should taste like cheap alcohol and sweat and nothing like the sunshine he’s sipping. 

Harley’s lips are soft on his own, pleasing and inviting. The hands on his waist fasten tight, ensnaring him to Harley’s grasp.

Peter whines into the kiss, pressing forward and mapping out the corners of Harley’s mouth with his tongue. Harley tastes like alcohol and sugar and blue skies.

Faintly, barely, he can register one of Harley’s hands creeping from around his waist and twisting into his hair. Peter leans into the touch, one hand still curled behind Harley’s neck and the other resting on his hip.

Feeling brave from intoxication, Peter lets his hand migrate towards the center of Harley’s jeans. Teasingly, he circles the button with his thumb. 

Harley’s breath catches. “You wanna, um, get out of here?”

Peter nods his assent. 

Harley almost drags him off of the dance floor, ignoring the drunk people and empty cups scattered across the floor. Peter laughs in exhilaration as they step out into the cool night air, wind gently brushing their clothes. Harley attempts to hail a cab while Peter peppers his jaw with kisses. 

Harley writhes on the spot, hips pushing out of their own accord and seeking attention. “That’s,” Harley breathes. “That’s really… God, just, hang on a second.”

Peter pulls away, sober enough to not be a douche. “‘M sorry,” he murmurs.

“No,” Harley gasps. “That was… ughh, yes, I just need to get a ride.”

“Mmmm, I’ll ride you.”

Harley leans back, giving him free access. “Yes, please,” he groans.

Drunkenly they stumble into the cab, throwing out the address of their dorm. Peter should probably say something to the driver, but he’s too distracted by Harley’s mouth to care. 

The driver pulls short in front of their dorms, and Peter stuffs a few twenties in his hand. That’s thanks enough, in New York terms. Harley titters a little drunk laugh as Peter trips over the curb, his blue eyes twinkling in the night. 

God, Peter wants to kiss him forever.

He settles for right now, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pulling him close, connecting their lips in a searing kiss. Harley stumbles backwards, shoes scraping across the pavement as Peter follows him in an intoxicated, lust-seared fantasy. 

Scrambling, they manage to make it up the stairs together, almost tripping and falling dozens of times before they make it to their door.

Harley brings his key out with hasty fingers, trying and failing to stick it into the lock. 

“Lemme,” Peter slurs, jabbing his key in and turning the lock. Harley pushes the door open, pulling out the key and letting it fall unheeded to the floor. Peter tugs at Harley’s shirt, asking for permission.

Knees bump tables and chairs and corners as Harley pushes Peter back to his bedroom, shoving open the door and closing it just as fast. “Shirt goes,” Harley gasps. “Please.”

Peter pulls his shirt off, and then they’re falling to the mattress.

“I almost thanked God aloud when Betty made me do that body shot,” Harley growls. “You’re too fucking hot for your own good, sweetheart.”

Peter hooks a leg over Harley’s lip, painfully aware that he’s still wearing pants and he does not want to be. 

“Pants,” He gasps. “Please, Harley, take them-  _ oh, fuck!” _

Suddenly he isn’t paying attention anymore, because Harley’s mouth on his stomach takes up a full attention span. 

“Fuck,” Peter whines. “Baby, oh my god.”

Harley snickers into his stomach, licking a stripe up to his ribcage. The southern boy finally takes his shirt off, and Peter’s mind goes haywire. 

Tattoos. Not a lot of them, and his chest isn’t covered in ink at all, but  _ Jesus everloving Christ. _

There’s one curling below his clavicle, a loopy script that he can’t read through his intoxicated haze. Another by his hip, and one above his collarbone.

Peter pulls Harley down to the bed, rolling half on top of him and latching his mouth to the writing. His tongue flicks the shape of the script, tasting minute droplets of sweat built up there. 

Harley bucks his hips underneath, rolling up into Peter’s pelvis, and his stance of No Pants comes back in a fury. 

“Off,” Peter commands. “Off, off, off, right now,”

“Yessir,” Harley drawls. Peter fumbles with Harley’s jean button impatiently, unzipping and pulling the jeans down. He waits as Harley tugs open his belt, feather light fingers that brush his crotch making him unsteady. Harley adopts a wicked gin, unzipping Peter’s jeans and-

Peter moans, throws his head back with a pant while his hips respond enthusiastically. Harley assumes a steady movement, thrusting his hand as Peter’s jeans fall to the floor, unheeded. There’s a faint thunk of his phone hitting hardwood, but he could care less. 

“Harley,” Peter pleads. “Har-leeey.”

“What ‘s it, darling,” he slurs. “Cat got your tongue?”

“The only thing I want on my tongue is you,” Peter quips. “But I want- I want you in me. Now, please.”

Harley flips them over, straddling Peter’s hips. He leans over, grabbing something from a bedside table and dropping it onto the mattress. There’s a spark as Peter connects their lips again, pulling Harley down so far he has to steady himself with a hand beside Peter’s head. 

Harley’s hand tugs impatiently at his underwear, requesting for it to come off. Peter agrees, and together mutually discard the last layer in between them.

From then on, the rest is hazy. Peter’s body expands with warmth, his stomach licking with tongues of fire. Fire courses through his veins every time Harley kisses him, every time Harley touches him. 

Peter can’t stop. He’s burning from the inside out.

The sun wakes him. Blankets are pooled pleasantly around his waist, soft and unusually warm. They brush gently as Peter stretches, a little sound escaping his mouth. 

The blankets shift, and Peter feels somebody behind him. That’s when it all comes back. 

The rush of memories sends a wave of pain through his head. A headache lays there, muffled pounding upsetting his mood.

Harley. That’s Harley behind him, holy shit, he  _ slept with Harley- _

And it was… incredible.

Jesus Christ.

Was Harley really drunk? Does he regret it? Does he even remember?

Harley shifts again next to him, and Peter supposes he’s going to get his answer within a second. Warm skin brushes his, a hand on his stomach, and Harley’s hair tickles his shoulder.

“Hi,” Peter says nervously, shuffling around to face Harley. His stomach relaxes at the way.

Harley looks at him. Blue eyes twinkle, and a smile creeps across Harley’s face. “Hey.”

Peter inhales. Harley’s accent is rough in the morning, amazingly so. It makes him shiver with delight. 

“So…” Harley starts.

“We slept together,” Peter finishes. “And it was… good?”

“Really good,” Harley drawls. 

“So,” Peter says, with more bravery than he thought he had. “What’s next?”

“Well,” Harley murmurs, tucking one of Peter’s curls behind his ear. “I would like to take you on a date.”

“Really?” Peter gasps. 

“Yes, really,” Harley laughs. “I’m not gonna give this up that easy,” he gestures to Peter’s chest. “Besides.” A small blush permeates the tan on Harley’s cheeks. “I like you. A- a lot, actually”

“Oh thank god,” Peter breathes. “I’ve been wanting to ask you out for… a long time.”

“How long?”

Peter stifles a giggle. “Since, like, October.”

Harley guffaws. “You’re too sweet.” He shuffles around, putting an arm underneath his head. “Well, for me, the first time I saw you I internally said, ‘Fuck, he’s cute’.”

“Excuse me, you’re the one who’s unfairly pretty.”

Harley beams and drags him into a kiss.

How did he get this lucky? How, in all heaven, did he manage to bag the literal nicest, cutest person he’s ever met?

But he doesn’t say that out loud. Well, for one, Harley’s mouth is covering his. 

Harley has morning breath and probably so does he. In fact, it’s exponentially worse because of the alcohol they both had last night, but Peter doesn’t care.

Harley’s hand latches around his waist, pulling them both together. Somehow, Peter’s leg ends up over Harley’s hip as they roll together, and his hips pin Harley to the mattress. 

Harley’s breath hitches audibly, and Peter ducks back down and begins to litter kisses on his neck. 

Harley hands travel, and Peter leans back up, gasping. “Shit,” He cries. “Harley-”

Harley pulls him into a kiss, and he has no regrets. 

Later that morning, Peter collapses onto the mattress, beaded in a light sheen of sweat. 

“That was even better sober,” Harley pants. “Jesus Christ, darling.”

Peter settles down on Harley’s shoulder. “We could have been doing this for months.”

“I know!” Harley groans. “Guess we’re just going to make up for it.” He winks.

Peter guffaws. “You’re terrible!”

Harley shrugs. “I’m smart, though. And you are unfairly ripped.”

Peter blushes and shrugs, tensing. Questions like these are always difficult to answer because of his whole Spidey Business.

“How long have you been Spider-Man, then?”

Peter coughs, sitting straight up. “What?”

Harley raises his eyebrows. “Honestly, I figured it out months ago. You’re always sneaking out- don’t think I can’t hear you, by the way- and I found bloody gauze in the trash a day after Spider-Man was reported stabbed by the news. I’ve seen the suit, too. That’s too detailed to be cosplay.”

Peter falls back onto the mattress, back thumping on the sheets. “Well,” he starts. “I guess I’m not that smooth.”

Harley laughs. “You’re really not.” A tense pause settles. “But I want to date Peter Parker. I think it’s great that you’re Spider-Man, but the nerd with bambi eyes and a love for Star Wars? That’s who I want.”

Peter beams and gives him another kiss. 

**Author's Note:**

> well this trope has been banging around in my mind for a little while  
> oh my god not like that but you know what i mean  
> this was supposed to be like 4k but shit happens and i got three in progress fics right now so *shrugs*
> 
> hit me up on tumblr @all-this-panic-still-no-disco for a trashcan of my faves  
> (and did i steal that like from maywildflowers? yes. sorry not sorry, ma'am.) and come to instagram @liza_marri


End file.
